


everything we have is all we need

by clayisforgirls



Series: open your eyes [2]
Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Concussions, Established Relationship, Getting Together, Hurt/Comfort, Injury, M/M, New Year's Eve, Valentine's Day, idiocy, timestamps
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-23
Updated: 2018-03-16
Packaged: 2018-08-24 05:01:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 6,666
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8358331
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clayisforgirls/pseuds/clayisforgirls
Summary: A collection of timestamps which take place in the same 'verse as all this feels strange and untrue.
Last update: March 16, 2018





	1. february 3, 2017

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _why_ Jonny replies, trying to extinguish the flicker of hope coursing through his veins.
> 
>  _because you were right_ is the reply, and then _we’re not just hooking up_.

It’s quiet on the plane.

It’s not really surprising. The game against Arizona had been brutal, the last minute goal even worse, and Jonny wants nothing more than to climb into his own bed and sleep for days.

Instead he’s curled into the window seat, shifting to try and find a position that doesn’t jolt his bruised shoulder. He’s almost certain it’s a losing battle, even with the ice pack that’s strapped to it. The hit from Chychrun had been _nasty_ , and that coupled with their four game losing streak and, well. Jonny’s pretty sure he isn’t going to get any sleep until they get to Dallas.

He’s too restless to watch a movie, too tired to read, and Jonny eventually settles on the highlights of Dallas’s game from tonight. If they’re going to win a game any time soon, they’re going to need all the help they can get.

He’s about a minute into them when a text message flashes at the top of this screen: _when we get home im gonna break up with amanda_ , and Jonny’s eyes flick to the man sitting across the aisle from him.

Patrick’s got his feet tucked under him, a blanket pulled up to his chin and his earbuds in. His eyes are closed, and if Jonny didn’t know better, Jonny would say he was asleep. But even if Jonny couldn’t see his hand hovering over the lit up screen of his phone, Jonny knows enough Patrick Kane tells that everything to him screams _faking_.

_why_ Jonny replies, trying to extinguish the flicker of hope coursing through his veins.

_because you were right_ is the reply, and then _we’re not just hooking up_.

Jonny can’t help the smile spreading across his face because they’re Jonny’s words. They’re the words he told Patrick right after he broke up with Lindsey, after he spent a week back in Chicago and realized he wanted nothing more than Patrick’s tongue in his mouth and Patrick’s hand on his dick.

But a month ago Patrick had looked at him wide eyed and terrified, and Jonny had bitten down on the words _because I’m in love with you, asshole_.

When Jonny looks up at Patrick now, Patrick looks soft and sleepy and _hopeful_ , like he’s worried that he’s missed his chance. The light from his phone screen is throwing harsh shadows over his features, but his eyes are still startlingly blue and his hair’s still a disaster and well, Jonny still fucking loves him.

Patrick’s tapping his phone screen like he’s waiting for Jonny to say no, chewing on his bottom lip the way he always does when he’s thinking too hard. But Jonny’s not so great at words, and after he checks that no one else is paying them any attention, he crosses the aisle and slides into the empty seat next to Patrick.

It’s easy enough to tug at the corner of Patrick’s blanket until it’s covering them both. Patrick’s knees are pressed against Jonny’s thighs, and normally he’d be chirping Patrick about his ability to take up more space than his tiny frame needs. But tonight doesn’t feel like the time for that, not when Patrick slumps against his side and tentatively slides a hand across Jonny’s thigh.

Jonny wants to kiss him stupid, wants to wipe the hesitant smile off Patrick’s face and replace it with the one where his whole face lights up. But there’s too much risk here, and he settles for covering Patrick’s hand with his own and squeezing gently.

“Okay?” Jonny asks softly, his mouth as close to Patrick’s ear as he dares.

When Patrick nods, he lets out a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding.

“Yeah,” Patrick confirms, his voice cracking on the word. Jonny squeezes his hand again, not letting go until Patrick squeezes right back, his mouth curving softly at the reassurance. “You wanna watch some highlights?”

Jonny nods, and it doesn’t take long for Patrick to find the same highlights that he’d interrupted less than ten minutes earlier. It’s something they’ve done a million times together, Patrick mumbling about corsi and zone entry and stats that have always been more his strong point than Jonny’s.

Normally Jonny would be listening, trying to pick up anything he can from Patrick’s ridiculous mind, but right now all he’s focused on is their hands linked together. Patrick’s warm against his side, pressed as close as he can get beneath their shared blanket, and Jonny feels his eyes drift closed for the first time all night.


	2. december 23, 2017

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I haven’t seen your charger,” Jonny says, and Patrick rolls his eyes.
> 
> “You could at least help me look,” Patrick replies with the barest hint of a whine. “You’re the reason I’m gonna miss my flight.”
> 
> Jonny snorts, because that is _not true_.

“Have you seen my laptop charger?” Patrick yells from the bedroom. It’s a stupid question. Jonny has no intention of moving from the couch to help Patrick pack.

Jonny doesn’t reply until Patrick peeks his head from around the bedroom door, his eyes narrowed and dark, visibly annoyed with Jonny’s lack of effort. Whatever. Patrick made the choice to fly back to Buffalo for Christmas and leave him alone in Chicago.

“I haven’t seen your charger,” Jonny says, and Patrick rolls his eyes.

“You could at least help me look,” Patrick replies with the barest hint of a whine. “You’re the reason I’m gonna miss my flight.”

Jonny snorts, because that is _not true_.

“Because it was all my idea to wake me up with a morning blow job,” Jonny says, his voice laced with sarcasm. “Except no, that was _all you_.”

“You looked all hot and shit,” Patrick says, grinning at the memory. “And it’s the last time I’m gonna see you for like, four days. So fucking appreciate it.”

“I appreciated it in the shower,” Jonny says, grinning. “And I don’t know where your fucking charger is. Just stop by your place on the way to the airport.”

“Story of my fucking life lately. Maybe I should just buy two of everything.”

Jonny can’t help but agree; most of Patrick’s shit has migrated back to Jonny’s, but they’re still stopping by Trump Tower at least three times a week to grab something that Patrick “needs”. It would be so much easier if all of his shit was here, and okay, Patrick’s not gonna go for that, but—

But there are still condos available in his building, and taking the elevator would be so much easier than Chicago traffic and the forty minute round trip to Trump Tower.

“Or you could move here,” Jonny says. 

Patrick doesn’t say anything. His eyes are round and wide, his mouth hanging open and even if Jonny wasn’t fluent in Patrick Kane, he’d be able to see the terror written all over Patrick’s face.

“Or not,” Jonny says, trying to keep the disappointment out of his voice. “But it’d save us a ton of time driving through Chicago for all of your shit that you can’t keep in one place, and I know there’s a three bedroom a couple of floors down with a huge ass balcony that you’d like.”

“You mean into the building,” Patrick says. “Not—not in _here_.”

“I’m pretty sure that if you moved into my condo people would notice,” Jonny says dryly. “Although you pretty much _have_ and no one’s said a word. But yes, into the building. Dumbass.”

“Yeah?” Patrick asks shyly, and Jonny nods. Patrick’s smile is suddenly wide, his cheeks dimpling, and Jonny feels his annoyance at spending Christmas alone slip away. “Okay. Jonathan Toews, I accept your invitation to move into your _building_. Now will you fucking help me look? I promise we can have not-quite-moving in together sex when I get home.”

“Just take mine,” Jonny says, tilting his head towards where his laptop is propped against the side of the side table. “And I’ll drop you at the airport.”

“You don’t need to,” Patrick says. “I know you don’t want to.”

It’s true; Jonny hates traffic around O’Hare although maybe not as much as the fact that he hates that Patrick’s leaving. But—

“If I drop you we can spend the next five minutes making out,” Jonny says.

Patrick’s smile turns into a leer, and he actually _bounces_ over to the couch. Sometimes Jonny can’t believe that he actually loves this man.

“So romantic, Tazer,” Patrick says, but he’s pressing his lips to Jonny’s anyway, and yeah. This is a much better plan.


	3. february 17, 2017

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I expect romance,” Patrick says once he feels like he can breathe again. “Flowers and candy, the kind of normal shit you give people on—”
> 
>  _On Valentine’s Day_ , he realizes, and it suddenly makes a whole lot more sense why Jonny’s picked right now to corner him outside the Ice House.

When Patrick gets done with his workout, he’s not really surprised to see Jonny waiting for him by the Hummer. Jonny's leaning against the car like he owns it, and it's a move that’s so typically Jonny that Patrick feels he should have seen it coming.

“Thought you’d be long gone by now,” he says as he steps into Jonny’s personal space, close enough so that he can see the determination in Jonny’s eyes, the way his mouth twitches in one corner. Patrick wants to press his face into Jonny’s neck, graze his lips over Jonny’s sensitive skin there, but he settles for tugging on the sleeve of Jonny’s hoodie, his fingers closing around the soft material.

“I’m picking you up at six,” Jonny says without any introduction to the conversation, and Patrick’s about to ask _for what_ when Jonny clarifies. “For a date.”

Patrick turns the giggles that are threatening to spill over into a cough because _what the fuck_ , but Jonny knows him too well and levels him with a glare.

“Like you know how to be romantic,” Patrick chirps, trying to keep his face as neutral as possible to piss Jonny off as much as he can. It seems to work.

“Fuck you,” Jonny replies, and kicks Patrick in the shin.

“Not gonna put out before the date, dude,” Patrick says, trying to paste a smile on his face to stop the wave of panic over the thought of Jonny fucking him. He is _not okay with that_. Jonny seems to realize, because he curls Patrick’s fingers into his own and squeezes gently.

“I expect romance,” Patrick says once he feels like he can breathe again. “Flowers and candy, the kind of normal shit you give people on—”

 _On Valentine’s Day_ , he realizes, and it suddenly makes a whole lot more sense why Jonny’s picked right now to corner him outside the Ice House. One of the beats had asked him about what he’d done for Valentine’s Day and he’d stumbled through an answer about breaking up with Amanda instead. He’d barely even told his _family_ they’d broken up, and now all of Chicago thinks he’s back on the market.

Except he’s not, because him and Jonny have been doing whatever _this_ is for longer than Patrick would like to admit. Just thinking about it makes him feel guilty, but it’s not like he expected this to happen. Not after one stupid kiss that shouldn’t have meant anything.

“I’m going to romance the shit out of you,” Jonny says with a glint in his eye, and Patrick laughs because Jonny is such a fucking _dork_.

“Never say that again, Taze,” he says, stopping himself from pressing his lips to Jonny’s. They might be in the team parking lot but the thought of anyone else catching them, even if it’s Duncs or Seabs, makes him feel nauseous. “You said six?”

“I—yeah,” Jonny says, his smile wide and soft and fond, and Patrick’s stomach curls in anticipation. “I know it’ll be hard, but try to look good.”

“Asshole,” Patrick says, but his voice is just as fond as Jonny’s face. “But if I’ve gotta make myself look pretty, I gotta go home.”

Jonny laughs and rolls his eyes, brushing his thumb against Patrick’s wrist before he lets go of Patrick’s hand.

“See you later, Peeks,” Jonny says, and Patrick thinks he’s going to say something else until Jonny’s pushing past him. Patrick watches Jonny walk to his own car, watches him pause before he gets into the driver’s side and gives Patrick what can only be described as Jonny’s dorkiest wave. He smiles, because Jonny is a ridiculous human being, and climbs into his Hummer before he can do something equally ridiculous back.

It’s strange to think that it’s Jonny that’s making him stupidly happy. It’s something that Patrick’s slowly coming to be okay with, mostly because it’s _Jonny_.

And maybe when they’re curled together on the couch later that night, Patrick’s head in Jonny’s lap, Patrick will let himself admit that he might be falling in love with the asshole.

But fist he’s got to prepare himself for Wining and Dining: the Jonathan Toews edition. And if Patrick knows anything about Jonny, he knows he has to bring his A-game.

Jonny won’t settle for anything less.


	4. march 3, 2020

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Peeks, we both know you make a terrible card shark,” Jonny says, still grinning that same shit eating grin. “Do you have any sevens?”
> 
> “Fuck off,” Patrick says, picking out the two sevens in his hand and throwing them at Jonny. “Is your Tazer glare some kind of x-ray vision?”

Patrick’s not entirely sure how many games of Go Fish they’ve played in the last few weeks, but it’s a _lot_. He’d suggested they switch to Rummy after a few games, but after they hadn’t been able to agree on the rules they’d stuck to something which wasn’t going to end with Jonny needing to take his painkillers.

Jonny’s lying on the couch—Patrick’s orders, which had made Jonny roll his eyes—his head closest to the corner of the sectional, his feet hanging off the end. Patrick’s on the floor, sprawled against the other side of the sectional, trying to figure out what the fuck Jonny has in his hand.

“Do you have any... fives?”

Jonny looks at the six cards in his hand like he doesn’t know what’s there, the little shit, and then smirks his stupid smug smile. Patrick wants to kiss it off his face.

“Go fish.”

“Ugh,” Patrick says, reaching out to take another card from the pile. It’s not a five. “No one should be this fucking good at Go Fish.”

“Peeks, we both know you make a terrible card shark,” Jonny says, still grinning that same shit eating grin. “Do you have any sevens?”

“Fuck off,” Patrick says, picking out the two sevens in his hand and throwing them at Jonny. “Is your Tazer glare some kind of x-ray vision?”

Jonny laughs, his eyes doing that dumb crinkly thing they do. It makes Patrick’s heart do something he doesn’t dwell on too long, because it makes him feel like he’s in some kind of teenage romance novel. But it’s been too fucking long since he heard that sound. Fuck Jonny’s stupid soft head. And fuck the Leafs.

“Do you have—” Patrick starts, but he’s interrupted by the flash of his phone. It’s from Schmaltzy, sent outside of the group chat, and Patrick thumbs the message open. Apparently Schmaltzy lost the ‘text Patrick to make sure Jonny isn’t driving him crazy’ roulette today.

It reads _We’re going Wrigleyville tonight. Come get your beer on!!!!!_ which is dumb, because they all know Patrick doesn’t drink. He’s still mid eye roll when another message comes through: _Or your sparkling water. Since you’re sober. Maybe we can get a nojito for you. I think that’s a thing._

Patrick grins—maybe stupidly—at his phone, because he does love his team. And outside of practice and games and road trips, he hasn’t really seem any of them in a month. But there’s a reason for that, and leaving Jonny alone right now isn’t an option. Especially when Jonny says he’s feeling better.

Because the last time Jonny said he was fine, car met pole, and they weren’t even _together_ then. Patrick doesn’t know what he’d do if it happened now.

_im good thx tho_ he types back, feeling only the tiniest bit guilty. _but when tazers better im gonna take u up on that nojito thing!!!_

“The team?” Jonny asks. Patrick nods, and Jonny’s expression slides into something that is a lot less happy that his stupid dumb smile. Patrick knows how much Jonny hates being left out of things, not only because Jonny loves his team maybe more than anything else, but because it’s also a reminder that he can’t go with them because he’s injured. More than three other people right now is too much for Jonny’s brain.

“Yeah,” Patrick says. “They’re heading to Wrigleyville tonight.”

“You should go,” Jonny says after a pause. “You can’t spend all your free time making sure I’m not going to do something stupid.”

“You trying to get rid of me?” Patrick says. “Cause I gotta say, it’s not gonna happen. You’re fucking stuck with me.”

“No,” Jonny says quickly, and Patrick lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. “I meant—Peeks, if you keep spending all your time with me they’re gonna start calling you my girlfriend. And I know we’re already the old marrieds, but—”

“Well,” Patrick interrupts. “I guess it’s a good thing they all know that I’m stupid in love with you then.”

“You told them?” Jonny asks, quiet and hopeful.

“Yeah,” Patrick says. “Couldn’t hide it anymore, man. Don’t know how you did it. I was so fucking worried about you, you have no idea.”

“And they’re okay?” Jonny asks hesitantly. Patrick nods.

“Yeah,” he lies, because Jonny doesn’t need to know right now that one of the Rockford call ups is very much _not_ okay with it. That the same kid is trying to get Stan to trade him so he doesn’t have to be around ‘the gays’. That Stan’s promised him a trade in the summer in return for a signed NDA. It’s nothing that Patrick had wanted and everything that he’d feared would happen, but there’s twenty one other guys in the room that have his back. “They’re good.”

“Come here,” Jonny says.

Patrick does; shuffling across the floor until his face is level with Jonny’s. Jonny reaches out, runs his fingers across Patrick’s cheekbone before he presses a kiss to Patrick’s mouth. It’s soft, almost chaste, but he can feel the curve of Jonny’s lips against his own. Patrick can’t help but return the smile.

“‘m proud of you,” Jonny says softly, the words brushing against Patrick’s mouth. “Shit, I love you so fucking much.”

“You too,” Patrick says. “Even if you are a concussed mess right now.”

“I’m getting there,” Jonny replies. “I promise I’m not gonna do anything stupid this time.”

“Yeah, you’re just gonna kick my ass at this stupid fucking game.”

Jonny laughs again, his hand moving to curl around Patrick’s neck, his fingers stroking over the bump at the top of Patrick’s spine. Patrick leans into Jonny’s touch, letting his head drop forward, his chin tucked into his chest as his eyes start to drop closed.

But Jonny’s cards are lying on the couch, face up so Patrick would have to be blind to miss them, and there’s a five in there. A motherfucking five.

“I take it back,” Patrick says. “I hate you. You’re a motherfucking cheat and an asshole. You’ve had my cards this whole fucking time!”

“Yep,” Jonny agrees. He even looks proud of it. “The next time David’s here, you should ask him about the Monopoly incident of 1999.”

“I’m gonna guess it involved you stealing a ton of money from the bank,” Patrick says. Jonny’s sheepish face is enough of an admission to know that it’s true, but Patrick’s almost certain that Jonny’s only sheepish because he got caught. “Have you been cheating this entire time?”

Jonny shrugs, which means _yes_. Whatever. Patrick can maybe forgive him for this, but only because Jonny’s still concussed. Although apparently not concussed enough to cheat at cards.

“You’re lucky I love you,” Patrick says. “But I want my five now.”

“Go fucking fish,” Jonny replies. Patrick can tell he’s trying really hard not to laugh, and it’s easy to kiss the stupid smug grin off Jonny’s face. It’s not gonna end with sex, not until Jonny’s cleared for skate, but Patrick can live with this. At least for now.

And when Jonny’s 100% better—

Time for payback.


	5. april 18, 2020

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "You faked the concussion test.”
> 
> It's not a question, but Jonny nods at Patrick’s reflection. Lying at this point is only going to make it worse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> About a week ago I wanted to write ANGRY WORDS. This was the result. Instead of writing things for the Hawks Summer Fest tonight, I cleaned this up. Because nothing says summer like angry fighting and concussions.

It takes Jonny three tries to pick up his toothbrush.

His hands are shaking as he brushes his teeth, trying to forget that only last night he walked into the frame of the bathroom door. When Patrick had found him rubbing his shoulder, the lie that he'd tripped had rolled off his tongue too easily.

The truth is that Jonny had thought the bathroom door was a foot to the left, but that's not something he can tell anyone. Not if he wants to play tomorrow night.

He has to close one of his eyes to be able to spit into the sink, and when he looks up, he can see Patrick’s reflection in the mirror. It’s a little blurry, but Jonny can still make out the set to Patrick’s jaw, the way his eyes are narrowed, how _angry_ he is.

"You faked the concussion test.”

It's not a question, but Jonny nods at Patrick’s reflection. Lying at this point is only going to make it worse.

"I'd ask why, but I already know the answer. 'We're down two, I need to play, I'm the captain, you all suck right now, I'm so important to the team you can't play without me.' Does that sound about right?”

Jonny's not sure he would have used those exact words, especially when no one is more important to the team than _Patrick_ , but it's not miles apart from his thoughts on needing to be out there with his team. Needing to be out there to help them _win_ , to put a smile back on Patrick’s face.

"Patrick—" Jonny starts, turning to face Patrick, but he’s interrupted.

"I'm not here to listen to your bullshit excuses, Jonny. You promised me that you wouldn't lie. You said you were feeling good enough to play and I _believed you_. So I guess that makes me just another idiot that believed Jonathan Toews wouldn't risk his life _again_ to play a stupid game. But that's exactly what you're doing.”

"I'm fine to play,” Jonny protests weakly, but Patrick’s steely expression doesn’t change. "Nothing's gonna happen, I promise.”

"Yeah, like nothing happened when you drove into that beam,” Patrick says cruelly. Jonny swallows; this isn't the same Patrick who stroked his hair and played cards with him and kept the bathroom stocked with Gatorade for him. "Or like when you made your concussion worse by playing the fucking Coyotes.”

There isn't anything Jonny can say to that, because he did both of those things.

"You need to tell Q,” Patrick carries on. Jonny looks at Patrick's outstretched hand, at the phone that's clearly there for Jonny to take and tell Q that he's not playing, but he can't make himself take it from Patrick. He wants to play. He wants to be out there with his team, win or lose, and he’d thought that _maybe_ Patrick would understand that.

 _Hockey first_ , Patrick had told him once when they were young and dumb, and neither of them have changed that much to think that it’s no longer true. There’s nothing that makes Patrick happier than _winning_ , even now, and to make that happen Jonny needs to play.

He isn't sure how long they stand there for— _an unstoppable force meeting an immovable object_ , he thinks, even he doesn’t know which of them is which—but eventually Patrick drops his head and shoves the phone back into his pocket.

"You know, it's kind of ironic that you'll take care of your body to the point of ridiculousness, but you can't get it through that thick skull of yours that you need to take care of your brain, too. You're not dumb, Toews, but you fucking act it sometimes. Do you really not care if you kill yourself over a fucking game? If it changes your personality, or your moods, or—”

"We risk that when you play, you _know_ that—”

"So you're just gonna play with a concussion and if it kills you, it's fine because it could have happened anyway? I mean, you could get hit by a car when you cross the street, but if you stand in the middle of the fucking road then it’s just inviting it. Fuck that Jonny. I'm not—I _can’t_ stick around to watch someone I love kill themselves.”

Jonny blinks as the words sink in. There’s a split second where Jonny thinks that Patrick can’t mean they’re done, but Jonny knows Patrick better than almost anyone else. There’s no mistaking the resigned slump to his shoulders, how Patrick’s lower lip is caught between his teeth, the way that he can’t bear to look at Jonny.

How Patrick’s all but breaking up with him in their bathroom.

"Peeks—” Jonny starts, but Patrick interrupts him.

"Don't 'Peeks' me,” Patrick says frostily, rubbing at his eyes. Jonny's pretty sure he's crying, or at least close to it. "I love you. And it's your choice. But if you choose to play, that's all you.”

Patrick’s gone before Jonny even gets a chance to speak, and Jonny hears the front door slam in what he hopes isn’t the final act of their relationship.

Because for Jonny, there _is_ no choice. He sees hockey _now_ but Jonny’s constant has _always_ been Patrick. He can’t imagine not having Patrick by his side; when they were rookies it was always Kane-and-Toews and maybe the marketing had worked a little too well, because for the last ten years, Jonny’s future has always been Patrick Kane.

And he wants Patrick to be his future for ten _more_ years. And the ten after that too.

Jonny finds his phone at the bottom of Patrick's nightstand, tucked underneath the well worn copy of _American Gods_ that Patrick’s been reading to him at night. The phone is flashing low battery at him—not a shock, since it lives in the drawer for twenty hours a day—but there's more than enough to type out a text to Q.

_not coming to practice, bad day again today._

He doesn’t wait for a reply before he opens the last message from Patrick. It’s a picture of the Jonathan Toews look alike tree ornament Patrick had found in Target, a gleeful message beneath it about how the ornament had been on sale.

 _they knw ur true value :p_ Patrick had typed, but he’d still come home with one.

 _I love you more than hockey._ Jonny types in the message box, careful to use the English he learned in school instead of the shorthand that normally peppers his texts. He doesn’t want Patrick to think that this doesn’t matter to him.

 _love you too asshole_ comes quickly. It's followed by _but im still mad jonny, I shouldnt have to give you an ultimatum for you to take care of yourself_

 _I'm sorry_ Jonny replies. _I'll be better next time._

 _you don't get to make jokes right now jonathan_ Patrick sends back, and Jonny flinches. He can read the hurt in Patrick’s voice, the derisive way he uses Jonny’s full name.

Jonny doesn’t think there’s anything that he could say to make Patrick understand, and even if there _was_ , he isn’t sure that Patrick would want to hear it. Instead he types out _sorry, peeks _before he throws the phone into the drawer.__

__There's nothing he can do but wait for Patrick to come home._ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ("There's a program in Switzerland. The docs think it could really help me. It's supposed to be the best, better than Atlanta now, and—"
> 
> "You're going, right?"
> 
> "Already booked my flight.")


	6. december 31, 2020

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “What’s up, kid? Not having fun?” Patrick asks, because there’s no reason for a twenty year old to be hanging out in the teetotal corner. There are plenty of people around who would buy the kid a drink if he wanted. Patrick included.
> 
> “No, I am,” Robin starts. “But I just—I wanted to say thanks.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy new year, everyone!

Patrick’s kind of in love with whoever set up the drinks at this New Year’s Eve party. Not only are there _choices_ for non alcoholic beverages, there’s even a tiny mocktail book standing next to the various juices that have been supplied.

Other than Jonny being concussion free, it’s the best thing that’s happened all year.

The only problem is there are too many choices, and he’s trying to figure out if he wants another virgin pina colada or something that’s strawberry pink when he hears a cough.

“Hey, uh, Kaner?”

Patrick’s not surprised to see Robin when he looks up. Even though Robin’s been on the team for nearly a year, he’s the only one who’s managed to keep his manners.

Jonny would probably protest that, but only having manners around his mother doesn’t count.

“What’s up, kid? Not having fun?” Patrick asks, because there’s no reason for a twenty year old to be hanging out in the teetotal corner. There are plenty of people around who would buy the kid a drink if he wanted. Patrick included.

“No, I am,” Robin starts. “But I just—I wanted to say thanks.”

“For what?”

“For this year, I guess. Just showing me the ropes, and helping me, and letting me train with you in the summer, and—you didn’t have to do any of it.”

“If anything, I should be thanking you,” Patrick interrupts. “You kept me from flying to Switzerland about eighty eight times this summer. You kept me busy, Batman. So I guess it goes both ways,..”

“You think you’re original, but you’re really not,” Robin says. The exasperation on his face is familiar, and Patrick can’t help but grin. It’s a conversation they had more than once over the summer. Because in hockey, the nicknames are always chosen by those they don’t belong to. And when there’s an entire team calling you Batman—

“Too late to change it now,” Patrick singsongs. “And it’ll die eventually. Maybe.”

“As long as Laz doesn’t get hold of it, you’ve got a chance.”

Patrick smiles as Jonny plasters himself to his back, his mouth warm as he presses a kiss to Patrick’s ear. He’s not sure how much Jonny heard of their conversation, but he’s not sure it really matters. He knows how much Jonny missed him, and it’s fair to say it went both ways.

“Just ask Captain Serious here,” Patrick says with a grin. Jonny doesn’t even protest, just tucks his chin over Patrick’s shoulder and pinches the skin at his waist in a warning.

“Well, you both live up to your nickname,” Robin starts. Patrick’s a little confused, because only Jonny calls him anything _other_ than Kaner now. And he wasn’t aware that Kaner was a description for anything other than ‘fucking amazing hockey player’. “You’re the most married people I know who aren’t even married.”

Which yeah. That makes perfect fucking sense.

“Is that meant to be a compliment?” Jonny stage whispers to Patrick. Patrick turns his head slightly to reply, but Jonny’s mouth is _right there_ , and Patrick is powerless to do anything but kiss him.

Four years later and the slide of Jonny’s mouth against his own is just as addictive as the first time. And after so many months apart, Patrick’s learned to savor the things he really loves about Jonny, and one of them is his mouth, always soft and pink and inviting.

“This is like watching my parents kiss,” Robin says, and it takes Patrick a second to realise that yes, there are other people than Jonny in the room too. Thankfully Robin’s trying to hide his laugh, and Patrick gently shoves him away.

“This is why you should be hanging out with people your own age. I’m sure someone out there can find you a drink.”

“Yes dad,” Robin says, smirking.

“I’m not that old,” Patrick protests but Robin’s already walking away, throwing a goodbye wave over his shoulder.

The thing is, Patrick _feels_ old. He feels as though he’s aged ten years in twelve months, and part of that is the toll hockey takes on a thirty two year old body. But mostly it’s from worrying about Jonny and his concussion, and Patrick wasn’t even the one _with_ the concussion. He can’t imagine how bad it felt for Jonny.

“Can we go home yet?” he asks Jonny, putting a little whine into his voice because he _knows_ Jonny’s more likely to say yes if he does. There’s a moment where Jonny pauses, but then he shakes his head. There are times that Patrick hates Jonny being a good captain, and this is definitely one of them.

“I promise we’ll be out the door at 12:01, Peeks.”

“While we’re talking about nicknames we hate—” Patrick starts, but Jonny stops him with a kiss.

“Liar,” Jonny murmurs against his lips. “You love it.”

“Only from you,” Patrick admits. The reward he gets is one of Jonny’s soft smiles, the ones only for him, and it makes Patrick feel do something he doesn’t even want to think about admitting to. Let alone say out loud.

“I love you,” he says instead, because otherwise he’s going to say something like he never wants Jonny out of his sight again.

“That’s not gonna get us home faster,” Jonny jokes, the same stupid grin plastered on his face. “But I might make your drink for you if you ask nicely.”

“Sold,” Patrick says, throwing the mocktail book at Jonny. “And since you’re buying, you can pick.”

“This is an open bar, Patrick,” Jonny says. “So with that logic, you should be asking Stan for the drink. Or Rocky.”

“So fucking literal,” Patrick says, rolling his eyes even though Jonny’s grinning. “How about this. You make my drink, and you might get lucky tonight.”

“Pretty sure that’s a done deal,” Jonny says, pressing a kiss to Patrick’s forehead. “You’re lucky I love you.”

“Same.”

“Yeah,” Jonny says softly, his eyes dropping to the floor. “I am.”

There isn’t any reply to that, not one that doesn’t have Patrick crying because he’s a fucking Kane, so instead he just kisses Jonny again, soft and sweet, and lets the world slip away.


	7. september 12, 2018

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While Patrick may be able to explain to the bartender that he's not interested, he isn't sure that the team would believe him. As far as most of the team are aware, Patrick's very single, and rejecting the stupidly hot bartender would invite more questions than he'd know how to answer without lying.
> 
> #firstworldproblems Patrick thinks, and then cringes. He clearly spent way too much time with his sisters this summer.

Losing credit card roulette sucks.

It sucks more when the hot bartender's been flirting with him since he handed over his card. She's stupidly hot, the kind of girl who would be way out of Patrick's league if he wasn't famous. There's no way that the old Patrick wouldn't have taken her number _just in case_ , because again, _stupidly hot_.

As it is, Patrick only wants to go home with his dumb captain. The one who has the sex drive of a rookie, not a thirty year old, and this morning gave Patrick a blow job that was so good that he actually passed out. While Patrick may be able to explain to the bartender that he's not interested, he isn't sure that the team would believe him. As far as most of the team are aware, Patrick's very single, and rejecting the stupidly hot bartender would invite more questions than he'd know how to answer without lying.

#firstworldproblems Patrick thinks, and then cringes. He clearly spent way too much time with his sisters this summer.

“Maybe I could make your night a little luckier,” the bartender says as she slides his card across the bar to him. Her smile is all teeth, her stare eerily reminiscent of Jonny's when he's focused on his goal, and Patrick drops his gaze to the receipt in front of him.

Except that isn't safe either, because she's purposefully bending over more than she needs to, and her shirt is unbuttoned just enough to give him a glance of red lace and creamy skin. 

“Uh, maybe,” Patrick says, swallowing around the words. He picks up the pen, adding what he hopes is an appropriate tip before he scrawls his name across the bottom of the receipt. Her smile widens as he hands the paper back to her, and turns to leave before she can ask him for anything else.

“I think you forgot something,” she says, handing him the business card he'd left on the receipt folder. What he assumes is her number is scrawled the bottom of it, clearly meant for him to use later, and he pastes on his best smile as he takes it from her.

She gives him a mega-watt smile as she turns away from him to serve someone else, and jesus, is there any trick this girl doesn't know? The old Patrick absolutely would have called her, maybe waited around until the end of her shift, but now all he wants to do is escape from the bar without her seeing him.

He's still trying to figure out what to do with the card when someone behind him speaks.

“You should give me that.”

Patrick recognizes the voice—even after all this time, Breadman's accent is still distinctive—but it still makes him jump. He'd been expecting the team to be watching this from afar, not creeping up on him when he least expects it.

When Patrick turns around, Breadman's not grinning like Patrick thought he would be; instead, there's a crease across his forehead, his eyes narrowed. It doesn't look like jealousy, but maybe Breadman's really missing his Russian girl right now.

“You think she's too hot for me?” Patrick jokes, holding the card out of Breadman's reach.

“She too hot for most people, Kaner” Breadman says. “But also, Jonny kill you if he find out.”

“She's not Jonny's type,” Patrick says, except she's hot enough that everyone's type. And Jonny's never been exceptionally picky about the people he chose to sleep with in the past, even though he could have been. Patrick's pretty sure that the present company is very much included in that, because if Jonny wanted a Channing Tatum look alike to suck his dick, he could probably get it.

“Kaner, she everyone type,” Breadman says, grinning. “But you and Jonny together, like I tell you before. Very happy. So you not needing number from bartender.”

Patrick blinks, because this is a conversation he wasn't prepared for. Especially not in the middle of a bar, where people could hear, and—

Okay, so they're kind of alone in the middle of a bar since it's a Wednesday night, but the point still stands.

“You know?” Patrick asks quietly, and Breadman nods. “When—how—I mean—“

“I Russian, not stupid,” Breadman interrupts, and Patrick's thankful that at least one of them can still put a sentence together. He's not sure he can even have a coherent thought. “You and Jonny, is easy if you look. Most people, they not look. I know a while, but I not tell. Is like, pinky promise?”

Breadman makes a fist and wiggles his pinky finger at Patrick, and Patrick breathes a little easier.

“Jesus, what have you been watching?” Patrick asks, but he still links his pinky finger with Breadman's. “Shit, I wasn't really expecting this.”

“Is okay. But give me card, and pretend she want to sleep with me, da?”

Patrick nods, pushing the card into Breadman's hand as fast as he can. 

“Thanks,” he says quietly, hip-checking Breadman towards the table. “I owe you one.” 

Breadman's face lights up like a Christmas tree at that, and Patrick groans internally. He's almost certain it's going to involve the prank war that Breadman started with the rookies at the end of last season. And Breadman might look innocent, but he's just as bad as Sharpy was. Especially with the big blue eyes that Patrick's seen dupe three different hotel workers in three different hotels.

He almost wishes that Breadman hadn't saved him from having to make up the worst excuse in the world about why he isn't going home with the hot bartender. But all of that disappears the second he slides back into the booth next to Jonny, and Jonny gives him that soft, stupid smile that Patrick loves so much.

It hits him that he'd do almost anything to be able to see that smile every day, and that includes getting involved in a prank war he's kind of too old for. And when Jonny presses their knees together and hooks a foot around Patrick's ankle, he's glad there was never even a thought to make a different choice.

Because Jonny is never going to be a _safe_ choice. Every day, there's the fear in the back of his mind that they're going to get outed. That, despite the best efforts of You Can Play, there are going to be people out them who hate them for what they're doing.

But it's been a long time since Patrick wanted to make a choice other than Jonathan Toews.

And he's going to keep on making that choice for as long as he can.

**Author's Note:**

> Title taken from "Wow" by Snow Patrol.


End file.
